Crossover, Part 2 - Wasteland
by Holly Marsh
Summary: This is the first sequel to the previously published "Eden". Following the events of the first story, our characters begin to settle into their new lives. But how long will the peace and quiet last, and what does the orb from the Keeper's world have in store for them?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Days To Come**

Nature had ensured that, as a general rule, any mother considered her own offspring to be superior in every way, and experienced the awakening of a tigress inside her, should anyone dare to offer criticism. Amy was no exception. Certainly, she was aware that there were other mothers in existence who considered other children to be the prettiest, cleverest, or even the most lovable of them all; these were poor, pitiable women who simply didn't have a clue - much like the teacher whose far from flattering report on her first-born now lay before her. Amy thrummed her fingers on the table top, took a large gulp of milk, and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. Her brow furrowed as she read on:

 _'As you are well aware, this is not the first time I have had to reprimand Matthew, though I find his conduct in this case to be particularly inexcusable. No doubt for fear of punishment, he attempts to lay the blame on his injured classmates; I cannot allow such dishonesty to go unpunished. It is therefore my duty to inform you that your son will be excluded from my classes until further notice, i.e. until he recognises his offence and shows a genuine will to alter his behaviour. Naturally, I am aware that both you and your husband are very young, and may require advice on disciplinary measures. I place myself at your disposal, and remain yours sincerely...'_

'Arrogant arsehole!'

It was not often that Amy swore out loud, but the injury to her maternal pride caused her usually patient nature to flare up. She tore the letter through twice, scrunched up the pieces and threw them on the cold hearth. That overbearing, supercilious, presumptuous... How dare he tell her how to raise her child, or imply that she lacked the necessary maturity? As if she needed help from the likes of him. Why, he couldn't even tell the good kids from the spoilt ones in a class of no more than fifteen children. And he obviously didn't know her Matty at all! Impulsive and boisterous as he may be, her son was decent to the core. If he said the other boys had started the incident, that was good enough for her, and she believed whole-heartedly that he had a very good reason for (repeatedly) clashing with his classmates.

Deep down, Amy actually felt a swell of pride. The letter stated that the other boys, all of whom were at least a year older and, in some cases, a good bit taller than he was, had been sent home with black eyes and bleeding noses, while Matty hardly had a scratch on him. No doubt that was thanks to his father's genes - with whom she urgently needed to talk about this. For as much as she would have liked to fetch her horse, pay Mr. Glover a visit and give him a piece of her mind, her rational sense warned her against any action that might further antagonise him against her son. This was a time to remain calm, talk matters through, and find a solution they could all live with.

Fortunately, Amy knew where her husband was working today, so there was no need to wait until the evening for him to come home. She finished her milk, rinsed the glass, and retrieved her youngest from what had been a beautifully-kept flowerbed, but now resembled a village of mud huts. Duncan was three years old and the most docile of her three children. He had smooth, very fair hair, and the tiny flecks of yellow in his violet-hued eyes resembled stars in a night sky. For his tender age, he already showed an unusually deep understanding of the moods and feelings of the creatures around him, and now wrapped his short arms around his mother's neck to hug her tightly - just like that, for no particular reason.

The simple gesture brought a smile to Amy's face and lightened her step on the way to the meadow where the goats were grazing. She stopped for a rest. It was a warm summer's day and she was feeling a little breathless, which was unusual, as she normally had excellent stamina. She was slightly queasy as well, but put the feeling down to the fact that she hadn't eaten very much today, and pushed it to the back of her mind. The brief respite helped, in any case, and mother and son were soon on their way again. They went down to the river, sparkling so brightly in the sun that Amy had to raise her hand to shield her eyes.

'Where's your daddy? Can you see him, sweetie?'

'There!'

Duncan's short index finger pointed in the same direction as Amy's eyes had travelled. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she paused, taking a moment to enjoy the view before she spoiled the idyll. It was not the landscape that held her attention; rather the tall, broad-shouldered figure with slightly wavy hair, well-defined muscles, and a smoothly tanned torso which seemed to float through the water alongside a magnificent white stallion... Was it normal that the mere sight of him could still excite her, after almost nine years of marriage? Amy experienced a pleasant tingling in the pit of her stomach and allowed herself to watch a little longer. Her teddy bear - she giggled, knowing how he pretended to hate that nickname in company - was so completely engrossed in his work that he didn't notice her approach. It was always the way when he worked with animals. Something about him would change and make him appear distant from this world, quite as if he were moving on a different plane of existence. There was a sublime tranquillity in his features that extended to his surroundings and any onlookers as if by magic. It affected Amy, too, who lowered herself to the grass and watched as he gently wetted the horse's coat and led it deeper into the soothing water at a leisurely pace.

' _All mine,'_ Amy thought to herself and sighed. _'I wonder if it's really possible to burst with joy?_ '

Thinking about it, Amy realised that, apart from occasional disagreements with teachers who lacked understanding where her little darlings were concerned, her life was pretty close to perfect. She had her whole family nearby, and she had the best of men at her side, a wonderful father to the three children who surprised and delighted her anew every single day. Moreover, she had been able to enjoy life at home since Duncan's birth without being called away, which had been her only regret in the past. When Matty and later Erin had been very small, Amy had frequently been separated from them because someone somewhere, in some strange world, supposedly needed her more urgently than her own babies did, and she had not been able to prevent it. Her dad sometimes called them "business trips" - those involuntary adventures that could not be refused or delayed. The universe called and you had to follow, whether or not you wanted to. But those days were over now, she told herself. Never again would she leave her home and her loved ones. Her life had become uneventful, and she was all the better for it.

Her husband's radiant smile when he spotted her on the shore further strengthened her belief. He waved to her to join him. Amy made sure Duncan was playing happily and safely, then took off her clothes and slipped into the water.

'I didn't hear you come,' he said when she reached him. 'You crept up on me again, you little pussycat.'

'Meow,' she quipped and responded to his kiss on her forehead by tracing the rough stubble on his chin with her finger. 'You looked so engrossed in your work, I didn't want to bother you.'

'You almost never bother me.'

'What do you mean - almost?'

His mischievous eyes sparkled, and the corners of his mouth dimpled. Amy prodded his firm stomach muscles. He laughed.

'Stop, stop, you know how ticklish I am!'

They rolled around in the water together, resurfacing dripping wet and with their arms wrapped around each other. Amy pushed him away and swam back to the stallion, who was eyeing the humans bemusedly. She held out her hand for him to sniff and patted his neck.

'How's the patient? Any better?'

'Much better. His legs hardly hurt him anymore, the water therapy has really helped a lot. I'll apply compresses again later, with the same herbs as I used yesterday, and he'll be ready to go home tomorrow.'

'So your healing hands have done it again, just like I said.' Amy pulled his arms around her and snuggled closer. 'You know, I could just about stay like this forever. How about you?'

'I'd love to, honey, but we have visitors.'

She looked where his finger was pointing. Their three children were lined up all in a row, and it occurred to Amy that there was one thing they were most definitely, and quite objectively, best at: No other kids could possibly get as completely filthy from head to toe in as short a time as her darling little rascals. Not that Amy minded. She had hardly been a paragon of cleanliness herself as a child, when she and her friends had played by the river. Her mother had taught her that childhood was precious - a time for innocence and joy to take precedence over order and rules. Her mother had never had much of a childhood herself, and had therefore made sure that Amy enjoyed hers to the full, for as long as she wanted. Amy let her own children have the same freedom. And there they were: eight-year-old Matty was lanky, but quite strong for his age, with thick hair growing in so many directions that hardly a brush could tame it; five-year-old Erin, on the other hand, had a head of silky-soft, strawberry blonde curls and an angelic smile, at least when she wasn't throwing a temper tantrum; little Duncan's pockets were bulging to such an extent that he must have gathered almost his own weight in dirt and pebbles.

'Goodness, you lot look like you've been investigating the inside of a molehill!' Amy exclaimed.

'Erin found a squirrel,' said Matty, for all the world as though it explained everything.

'It's hurt,' his sister chimed in. 'Look, daddy. I think it's broken!'

The biggest of Amy's band of adorable rogues at once became serious. In just a few strokes, his six-foot three-inch frame gained the shore, where he slipped into a pair of loose-fitting buckskin trousers. He crouched down facing the little girl, who entrusted him with her little living treasure. His big hands held the creature delicately and stroked it with great care while he examined it.

'You're right. Its left hind leg is broken.'

'Aww, it's just a baby,' Amy remarked, having retrieved her clothes before she joined them. 'Look how tiny it is... and that sweet little nose...'

'It probably fell out of its nest.'

'What are we going to do?'

'We have to put it back before its mother finds it missing or rejects it. But first, we need to fix that leg.'

'Can you fix it, daddy?' Erin asked hopefully.

'Sure he can, don't worry.' Matty laid his hand on her shoulder, every inch the wise elder brother. 'Dad'll make it right, like I told you.'

Their father smiled briefly. Then he folded his hands around the baby squirrel and closed his eyes. Amy and the children drew closer together. A warm breath of air swept past them, and they watched spellbound as a bluish shimmer streamed from the hand with the sickle-shaped mole between thumb and forefinger, enveloping the animal and the human hands with a nebulous aura interspersed by tiny flashes of golden lightning. When his eyes opened again, the miracle was complete. On his right palm lay a perfectly healthy, unharmed and cheerful little being, swishing its bushy tail. Amy, Matty and Erin clapped.

'Duncan too!' the youngest cried.

His father slipped his arm around him and pulled him close. 'One day, kiddo. When you're old enough, I'm sure you'll be able to do things like this too.'

The two older children pushed in.

'Are you gonna take Fluffy back to his mummy now? Can I come?' Erin begged.

'You've given it a name?' Amy rolled her eyes. 'It's not a pet, sweetie.'

'But we saved Fluffy, so he's our friend now,' Matty backed his sister up. 'Please, daddy, can we come?'

'Well, someone's gotta show me where Fluffy lives, right? But I need to take care of our other pal over there first, or Silas will be getting back a seahorse instead of a stallion tomorrow.'

'It's okay, I'll take care of him,' Amy offered. 'Just come straight home when you're done, all right? There's something we need to talk about.'

She saw the question he looked at her, but did not respond for now. However, Matty seemed to have an idea what she meant. He rubbed the back of his head in an embarrassed fashion and looked up at her with his head a little to one side. Amy shook her head.

'Later. You just make sure you get the squir... sorry, Fluffy, home in time.'

She waited a moment and watched the small procession as it headed towards the treeline, then took hold of the light reins.

'Come along then. Let's go and find your friends.'

The horse had no objections, but trotted along beside her with ease. The stallion's pain really did seem to have subsided, he had no more trouble walking on the uneven ground and even risked a small skip when she let him run to join his friends grazing in the sunshine. Amy turned away and went back to the house. She walked slowly, for the slightly unwell feeling in her stomach was back, and her footsteps were becoming increasingly heavy. With relief, she finally pushed open the kitchen door and sank onto a chair. It was not long before she heard voices and the tramping of little feet. Four heads peeped in.

'We took Fluffy home!' Matty announced jubilantly. 'And we waited for his mummy to come.'

'It was so cute!' Erin added delightedly.

Duncan came running into the kitchen and made to climb onto Amy's lap, but his father held him back. He ushered the children outside.

'Run along and play, make the most of this glorious weather. But stay close, okay? Matty, Erin: Look after your brother.'

'Sure, daddy.'

Erin took Duncan by the hand, and together the three of them departed obediently. Amy wiped her brow. She closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them, there was a beaker full of cool water on the table in front of her. She gave a wan smile and took a tiny sip.

'That's not enough, you need to drink more.'

She did as told, but said, 'Don't look so worried, I'm fine. I might have caught a touch of the sun or something, that's all.'

'That's never bothered you before. I think there's another reason...'

Amy shook her head. She didn't want to think about it right now, much less discuss it. Instead, she brought the conversation straight to the problem concerning their eldest child.

'Matty brought a letter home from school yesterday; I found it in his bag this morning.'

Her husband's brow creased. He drew up a chair and sat close to her. There was no need for him to say anything, because Amy was already continuing.

'I tore the thing up, the pieces are still in the fireplace if you want to puzzle it back together.'

'Oh, that kind of letter...'

She had to grin in spite of herself. 'Quite.' Then she grew serious once more. 'It says Matty got into a brawl with four older boys at school again.'

'What?'

'That's not all. Apparently he said the other kids had started the fight, but his teacher won't believe him. Matty wouldn't tell him what it was about, and now he's been suspended.'

'What?!' He was on his feet this time. 'He can't do that!'

'Wait for it, this is the best bit,' said Amy. 'Mr. Glover's offering to advise us on how to discipline Matty. He seems to think we're too young to raise our children without help.'

'The hell he does! I'll show him discipline!'

'Honey, don't...' Amy had risen too, and stopped him as he was about to storm out. 'It won't do Matty any good at all if we lose our nerve now! We've got to handle this reasonably. Most of all, I want to hear Matty's side of the story, but I thought we should discuss it and decide on a course of action first.'

'Matty doesn't go around clobbering other kids for no reason, and any teacher who wants to tell me how to bring up my son had better brush up on his own defensive skills before he shows his face near me again!'

Amy nodded with a sigh. 'I know, I thought the same at first - why do you think I tore up that letter? But Matty won't have it any easier at school if we get into an argument with Mr. Glover. Besides, he's right about one thing: We don't want our son growing up to think it's okay to use violence to solve a problem, do we?'

He sat down again, grumbling. 'No. Of course not.'

'You see?' She brushed his shoulder and returned to her seat as well. 'Matty has got to learn there are other ways. We've got to teach him by setting a good example and handling this calmly.'

'Now you sound like my father.'

'Mostly I want you to sound like your father when you talk to our son. Just try and remember what he used to say to you when you had got yourself into trouble again.'

'Hmph,' he snorted. 'Fine. Let's hear what Matty has to say.'

The boy came promptly when called, looked back and forth between the two of them and then stood shuffling his feet, his gaze fixed on the floor.

'I messed up, didn't I?'

'It looks that way. Come here, look at me...' His father waved him over and rested his hands on his shoulders, looking deep into his eyes while Amy held back for now. 'Exactly what happened, Matthew? Why did you get into a fight with those boys? There must have been a reason, right?'

'They started it!'

'How? Did they hit you, or push you, or take something from you?'

Matty shook his head. 'No, nothing like that.'

Amy leaned forward and said, 'You know you can tell us anything, Matty, as long as you're honest about it.'

He replied a little hesitantly, 'It... it was because of Meifeng.'

'Meifeng?'

His parents exchanged looks of surprise. The Chinese girl was pretty as a picture, but definitely the shy wallflower type. It was hard to imagine her at the centre of a fight that had left four boys bruised and Matty suspended from school.

'What happened with Meifeng?'

'They were teasing her!' the eight-year-old exclaimed full of righteous anger. 'Just like they always do! Alejo and Romain were making fun of her for not having a mother, and Corey called her father... he called him...'

'Yes?' Amy prompted. 'What did he call him?'

'Queer! Dustin says, God will send him to hell for it, and that's when Meifeng started crying and I whopped him.'

Now his parents understood. Matty's classmates had provoked him, and under the circumstances, they were no longer surprised at the vehemence of his reaction. It probably would have ended better for Alejo, Romain, Corey and Dustin, if they had attacked Matty himself, but he would never let an insult go when it was directed at his second cousin, who was unlikely to stand up for herself. Despite these circumstances, however, Amy knew that they had to make one thing clear to their son.

'That was really mean of those boys,' she began soothingly. 'But sweetie, it's no reason to go around hurting people. If you do that, you're only sinking to their level.'

'I don't care!' Matty pouted, pushing out his lower lip. 'It's not Meifeng's fault she doesn't have a mum, and her dad's not queer!'

'Well... actually...' his father began.

'It's not a nice thing to say,' Amy put in quickly. 'Your uncle is a little different from other men. He doesn't feel attracted to women, you see? It's just his nature, and there's nothing wrong with it.'

'Then why is he gonna go to hell?' Matty asked anxiously.

Amy took him in her arms and calmed him. 'He isn't, sweetie. Love doesn't lead to hell, it leads to heaven. Your uncle is a good man, and you don't have to worry about him, okay?'

'Okay.'

'Good. Still, I don't want you fighting with other kids at school anymore. If they say bad things to you or to someone close to you, tell them to stop, or just walk away. You know they're wrong, and that's enough. If they won't leave you alone, tell a teacher, or tell daddy and me. We'll talk to their parents and sort it out - right, love?'

'You bet! I'd love to have a word with that kid Dustin's parents. After all, he must have picked that bull... nonsense up somewhere.'

'Before you do that, you'd better talk to Mr. Glover - the sooner, the better.'

'It's Saturday.'

'All the better, it means he's more likely to be home. Please, Teddy,' she pleaded. 'I'd like to get this settled as soon as possible.'

'Fine,' he sighed resignedly. 'As long as you do me a favour and lie down until we get back. You're looking a bit green about the gills.'

It was settled. Amy didn't really mind. Her stomach was far from settled. She was beginning to have her suspicions as to the cause. If her calculations were correct, she was somewhat overdue this month. And then there was the way her husband had looked at her... It was always a little unsettling that he knew these things before she did. It was due to his special affinity with everything living, of course, but it had vexed her more than once in the past, especially before Matty was born. She had been pregnant for the first time and meant to surprise him, but he had known already. He always knew, and had once described it as a small quake that caused the air to tremble as soon as the smallest vulnerable spark of a new life was kindled.

Amy sensed it too, but in a different way. Hers was an emotional power, not quite as strong as his, which allowed her to perceive others' feelings as if they were her own, and enabled her to sympathise in a way that was not unique, but rare. It meant that she knew precisely what anger boiled in her beloved's heart, and the more time passed, the more she started thinking she would have been wiser to go with him to meet the teacher. At least she was starting to feel better. In fact, she suddenly had a keen appetite, and set about preparing a late lunch. She had been sitting at the table with Erin and Duncan for about half an hour by the time the other two returned. Matty was grinning broadly, while his father sat down silently and grabbed a plate.

'Well?' Amy enquired eagerly. 'Did you speak to him? How did it go?'

'So far, so good, I guess...'

'What does that mean? Is everything okay? Can Matty go back to school?'

'Yeah. He goes back Monday as usual... but he... er... he's switching classes.'

'I'm gonna be in Aunt Hannah's class!' the boy triumphed.

'What? Why?' Amy wondered. 'Not that I'm not pleased, but what happened?'

Matty giggled. 'Daddy punched Mr. Blowhard in the face.'

'Matty!'

'That's what daddy called him. Now Mr. Glover says he won't have me in his class anymore, so we went to see Aunt Hannah.'

'Oh no - tell me you didn't!' A look of remorse was all the answer Amy needed. She threw her hands up in despair. 'Some example you are! How are our kids supposed to learn violence isn't the answer when you can't even hold a civil conversation with a teacher without giving him a black eye?'

'Actually, I think I broke his nose...'

Despite her annoyance, Amy had to bite her tongue in order to stop herself laughing. He grinned shamefacedly.

'Sorry, babe. Does this mean I have to sleep on the couch tonight?'

Amy couldn't suppress her laughter any longer. 'You're incorrigible! Kids, your daddy is setting a very bad example. He's no better than a naughty schoolboy himself. Unfortunately, mummy loves him for it. I love you all so much!'

She wiped away a tear. These mood swings were a nuisance, though she was not about to complain over his tender kiss or the hugs from her three little rogues that this one earned her. Life was good, and as far as she was concerned, it could remain exactly as it was for as long as it liked. Unfortunately, she would soon realise that was not to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Off The Beaten Track**

The beer was out. If he had to name one circumstance that bugged him more than any other, Dean probably would have named this. He had drained the final can down to the very last drop two days ago, had squashed it with his hand and lobbed it on top of the heap piled up around the number 2 pump. In his bad temper, he kicked at an empty bucket and sent it rolling like tumbleweed across the cracked asphalt, through whose jagged rifts grass and creepers had struggled forth to reclaim their territory. A crow rose up with a grating squawk, beating its wings a few times before alighting on the rain gutter of the projecting roof, which groaned under its weight. A puff of hot wind buffeted the display board and set flapping the only panel that had not long since broken out of its rusty brackets. Aside from this, all was silence. There was no music on the radio, not even static. No noise of engines or car tyres on the road, no honking of horns. No human voices, no footsteps. Nothing but wind, dust, and dying metal. Everywhere.

Dean had travelled far. He had spent years journeying from one world to the next, always on the move; he had seen much, though without really taking any of it in. That is, until he had come to this world. He knew this world better than any he had ever visited, had explored its remotest reaches in search of human life, but without success. For how long? He did not know, because it was only in this place that he had begun to keep track of the days, carving notches into the counter of the gas station that had become his home, as much as any place here could be. In the shade by the door stood a tattered old car seat. Onto this he flopped - without beer, since he had run out - and settled down to wait for the day to go by. Mornings were hot around here, but by midday, the heat would be blazing. Until the sun started its descent, there was not much to do but sit and watch the greenery grow. He stared dead ahead. In that direction, a dilapidated Ferris wheel rose up out of the sea of green, right beside the ruin of an old freefall tower that now served as a nesting place to the local pigeons. Dean did not fancy pigeon today, not again. If he couldn't have beer, then at the very least, he would have something savoury to eat. He had seen a wild sow near the old ghost train yesterday. Today, he would have himself a hearty meal.

As soon as the sun had sunk low enough and the air was sufficiently cool, Dean slipped on his jerkin and frock-coat, slipped his shortsword into its sheath and grabbed his shotgun - he called it his, because after all, its former owner was nowhere to be found. There was one round left in the barrel, and he took the last pack from the drawer; it was half empty. The ammunition would not last much longer. Soon he would be forced to kill his prey either with his sword or with his bare hands. Today, however, he would still be able to shoot his dinner from a distance. Stepping out from under the decrepit roof, he made for the abandoned amusement park.

The road which led there was barely discernible. As was the case all over this world, nature had begun a long time ago to take back its space. Roots and vines had defeated steel and cement, battered and rusting vehicles with smashed windows had been partially swallowed by the earth or were disappearing into the relentless growth of the jungle. Dean left the road and cut across the wasteland, passing crumbling walls and tumble-down fences, through a gate and around a swamp from which the broken mast of a pirate ship extended like a digit raised in warning. Frogs and toads splashed about in the shallow waters close to the shore, and a heron sat perched on the railing of the crow's nest. At least the fauna had survived the catastrophe that had extinguished all human life. The fact was of little comfort to Dean, however, except when it came to mealtimes.

Beyond the park's pirate-themed section lay the area with the pagoda-roofed buildings which he had, in his own mind, dubbed "Chinatown", and which included the ghost train. The figures rising up on either side of the entrance appeared menacing, their grotesque faces made even more hideous by the fact that their former blaze of colours had peeled off in places, revealing the grey metal carcasses beneath. It was about here that he had seen the wild hog a day ago. But although he searched the entire area as with a fine-toothed comb, there was no sign of the sow today. Somewhat at a loss, Dean scratched his beard. Now what? There was a reasonably undamaged cart of the old carnival ride behind him, and in this he sat down to think. Was he going to have to settle for pigeon again after all? Or should he venture further into the jungle in search of deer and other game? Last time, he had only narrowly escaped a hungry bear in search of its own next meal. Dean slumped down.

He had never been of a sociable nature, but being quite alone in the world was too much privacy, even for him. The loneliness sapped his energy; the monotonous routine, the harsh conditions, the lack of any distraction or variation caused the days to roll into each other without prospect of any change, ever. How long could a man live like this? When would his isolation drive him insane, or when would he forget that there had ever been anything more to life than this? How he wished he could forget. Maybe, just maybe... that would make it all more bearable.

A squeak tore him from his gloomy thoughts. There, beside the one-eyed statue of a dragon, as if by a miracle a wild piglet had appeared, digging in the dirt with its snout. Dean slipped the pentagram he had unconsciously taken out back into the pouch on his belt and rose as noiselessly as he could. The animal took no notice of him. It was only a juvenile. There was not much meat on it, and if he fired now, he would riddle it with lead, leaving very little that was palatable. In this case, killing his prey by hand would be better, so he hung the gun over his shoulder on its leather strap and inched forward. He managed a few yards. Then there was a rustling in the bushes; something was moving. A long, glistening body slithered across the ground, the scaly head rose, the tongue lashed out with a hiss. The piglet was startled. In a single bound, it leapt into the underbrush and ran off squealing wildly, the hungry snake following in its wake - and Dean close behind. Forgetting his considerations of a few minutes ago, he took aim and fired his shotgun. The snake lay still, the wild hog ran on. Deeper and deeper into the woods Dean pursued it, over rough ground and smooth, taking no notice of his surroundings until he almost ran headlong into a wall.

But no - this wasn't a wall, he realised as he stopped to look. It was a block of stone, so overgrown with moss and twining creepers that it was hard to identify. And it wasn't the only one, either. Another step in the direction his prey had fled brought Dean into a whole array composed of such blocks, each of them more than three times as tall as a man. They were arranged in a circle, and in some cases connected by a block laid across the top, creating massive archways. Dean caught his breath. He stepped back out of the circle and looked around with more attention. Sure enough: This was but the inner ring of a much larger site, so much overrun by vegetation that he had taken it for a primal forest, not guessing what lay underneath. His heart beat faster. Once again he turned, ran to the centre of the inner circle and began tearing at the vines with both his hands, scraping off the moss with the hilt of his sword before staring at the runes he had uncovered. Then he dropped everything and fell to his knees. He pressed his hands against the chiselled stone and began to sob.


End file.
